Some English Roses Bloom Quietly
by ChopSuiFish
Summary: I am Marianne Adams, born a Noble, Died a Pirate. I stowed away on a pirate ship with my best friend, Bethany, unknowing of the path ahead. Includes Jack as a child, but there be no JOC, just Jack and his Jackishness
1. Not Exactly an English Rose

**Oh, the horror! Look what you have made me do! I did not wish for it to be like this, not one bit! But, please just R&R this, then possibly look at my other stories! Please?**

**Summary: A young girl leaves home with just her slave-friend, and a sack of books. She boards a ship as a stoway, and finds out they're on a Pirate Ship, none other than the infamous Black Pearl! The two young girls must pretend to be boys to survive the harsh life of a pirate, but will they be found out?**

**Disclaimer: I own you all! No, not really, I'm just so hyped up because I'm freezing and can hardly feel my hands... I own Marianne, Bethany, Marianne's history and family, and whatever happens on the ship (until later notice) but I don't own the Black Pearl, England, the Caribbean, Cap'n Jack, or anyone else. Or do I? Nah, but that would be so cool.**

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Marianne wasn't exactly what you'd call 'An English Rose'. Sure, she had the pale skin, but it was slightly overstepping the mark, pixie-like and tinged with green. And, again, she had soft, thick, and slightly wavy light brown hair, but her eyebrows were so black it was hard to believe that that was her natural hair colour. She was skinny yet curvy, as the fashion was to be, but she was so tall her dresses had to custom-made, for fear of showing her legs. And her teeth, though they were perfectly white and straight (her mother made sure she was fed on savoury items, no sugar, no salt, for reasons unknown to anyone other than herself) were too large at the front, and too wide at the back.

But it was her eyes that were her utmost downfall.

They could be described as green, but that wouldn't do them justice. Yes, they were green most of the time, in the midst of the day, but if she looked the other way, or if the light changed, they changed too. In the dark, when her pupils were larger, they were silver, or if you preferred a less simple explanation, the colour of diluted swamp water touched by moonlight. Sometimes they were as blue as the sky, as the oceans, or grey, like storm clouds were brewing in her thoughts. Sometimes they were brown, a soft chocolate, or a rich mud. Some people called them wolves' eyes, some cats, and quite a few called them witch eyes. But there was one thing everyone agreed on.

They controlled the weather.

Despite Marianne's complaints, and arguments that maybe the weather controlled her eyes, not the other way round, people always grabbed her face and looked into her eyes to see whether they should sow their crops, or hang out washing.

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"Miss Adams? Miss Adams?" Bethany, Marianne's sole servant, came up, washing tub full of clothes and water under her arm. She grabbed Marianne by the chin, and looked into her eyes. Pleased with what she saw, she ran out again, giving Marianne no chance to speak. 

"Where has that blasted girl got to?" Jane, Marianne's mother, walked hastily in. "Ah! Marianne, you haven't seen the slave, have you?"

Marianne flinched at the word, but still gestured to the garden, where Bethany hummed a song as she hung the wet clothes up on the ropes that had been tied between the trees.

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Jane Adams wasn't very rich. She had married a rich man, yes, but he died, and she found that in his will he left most of his money to his parents and siblings, leaving just enough to Jane for her to live with a small two-floored house and one slave. He had left Marianne a large sum, but it could only be got at once she came of age and was married. 

Jane was always worried about whether she was losing money, and she held onto what she had greedily. She treated her daughter similarly to the way she treated her servant, and was desperate to marry her daughter off to some wealthy heir of a great estate.

* * *

"Bethany! Where is my bath! I must wash, I fear I shall choke on the stench if I do not!" She hurried towards the girl. 

What Bethany said in reply, Marianne couldn't hear, but she was sure she heard the sound the impact of Jane's hand had made on Bethany's cheek.

Marianne waited until Jane had retreated back to her room before she ran to Bethany. She held her servant closely, rocking back and forth and stroking her hair. "It will be all alright, you'll see. Alright, alright." She murmured in the girl's ear.

"No-" Bethany sobbed in between her words. "It will – it will not! She- she will keep at me like a hound until my dying day!"

"No she won't. Don't you worry. I'll fix it." Marianne cooed, still stroking and rocking.

"H-how?"

Marianne opened her eyes, and scanned the horizon, thinking of a plan. Her eye settled on a ship mast she saw just on the edge of her vision, coming into land on the opposite side of the town to the docks. "Escape."

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Before Marianne's father died, they had lived on a huge estate, in the country, away from any towns. There had been many rooms, all large and impressive, but the library was Marianne's favourite. She used to spend all her time there, at first being read to by the literate slave her father had bought for her. When the slave taught her how to read, he was used to help her father write letters and read replies, as his eyesight and hands failed him, as he grew older. Once that happened, Marianne set herself the task of reading every single book in the whole room. 

She never did quite do that, as some of the books were so dreary she couldn't drag herself past the first page, but she read a large number of them. There were illustrated books on birds and other exotic creatures that she spent months committing to memory. But, when she overheard her mother's plans to sell the whole estate, including the library and books in it, she had to choose what she took carefully.

And now, years later, she was being forced to make similar decisions. She had stolen two grain-sacks from the windmill, and carefully put all the books in one. She found that it was too heavy with all of them, so she took them all out, and went through them.

Ah-hah! She could always leave the Wildlife books behind. No, she was too attached to them. The books on ships? No, if they were to leave on a ship, it would be good to know what type they were on and how it worked. The stories, about pirates and heroic sailors, fighting the rogues off? No, she couldn't possibly leave _those_.

She eventually settled on leaving the records books, which had names of ships that came into dock, their captain and crew, reason for docking, and cargo.

Now all she needed was a plan.

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**Hello! Please Review! I'd love it if you would. Yes, you! You know who you are! Meehee! Review, or the story may be in an... Unfortunate Accident. You understand? Good, so REVIEW!!**

**May Tra'ers guide you onwards**

**Razzy  
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	2. Dare I do

**So much for holding the story hostage... Heh heh heh... I just couldn't help it! But Reviews would be seriously helpful.**

**I disclaim! I disclaim! I own All but Jack Sparrow, in this chapter. **

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"Jack! Oh, Jack, where are you?" A small black woman placed the pot she had been stirring in, and the wooden spoon she had been stirring with, down. She had a thick Nigerian accent, and the ragged clothes she wore told of her status. "Jack, come on, I need you here now." She rubbed her brow, and went reluctantly back to her stirring. 

The said boy was running through the streets, his light caramel feet pattering on the dirt ground. His long black hair was a mass of tangled strands and dreadlocks, falling frequently into his dark brown eyes.

"Oi! You boy, get back here now!" Jack cast a look over his shoulder, and what he saw worried him. What had before been one large man were now three. They barrelled towards him, knocking the people and objects out of their way.

Jack suddenly jumped onto a stack of barrels, running up them. Had the men given up? No. One was attempting to scramble up the barrels, and with a wince Jack saw the ropes holding the barrels together strain. He turned forwards again, running as fast as he could. If he could just get to that alleyway, he would be safe. It was within four feet. Three feet. Two feet. He was almost there, when he heard the ropes snap.

The barrels tumbled, sending Jack with them. He ran on one, jumping as another almost collided with him. He didn't dare look back, and as soon as he caught his breath, he realised he was too far past the safety of that alleyway to go back. A wall- yes! Just short enough for him to reach the top of. He jumped, and grabbed onto the wall, pulling himself up.

And not a moment too soon. The three men that had been chasing him rolled straight past, caught up with the barrels. He saluted to them and watched them roll, straight down the river.

Merrily, he hopped back down off the wall, and strolled back towards home, the money and bread he had stolen bouncing with him, in the pockets his Ma had made for his trousers. Ma would be so pleased with him. Maybe she would buy him some of that chocolate that the Master's children seemed to adore so much.

A hand clamped on his shoulder. "Jack Sparrow?"

"Ah, you see, I think I saw a boy called Jack Sparrow. Went just ahead of those-" Jack turned around. "Oh." He tried his best to look innocent. "Yes sir?"

"Empty your pockets." The familiar face of James Durton looked down at him, face square and hardened.

"Ah, sir, you see, I have none. Ma couldn't get enough material to make me some proper pockets, you see?"

"Will you empty them, or do I have to empty them for you?"

"Oh, look, that _is_ a pretty bird!" Jack pointed just behind Mr. Durton, and ducked to the side, trying to run away. "It flew before you saw it, huh?" He smiled in his best concerned look as he was dragged back by the ear. "It was a very pretty bird, I assure you. My guess was a parrot. You know, the ones that talk and talk-"

"-And will not shut up? Yes, I know someone like that all too well." Mr. Durton kept hold of Jack's ear as he walked through the town towards the prison.

"The cells? Come on mate, I _am_ just a kid, ya' know? My Ma, she is very sick! She could _die_ if she heard I was in the cells _again_!" Jack pleaded, flapping his arms around.

"Sick? I saw her the other day, and she was just _fine_." Mr. Durton stopped. "How about this. You empty your pockets, and I shall only take you home and talk to your Mother."

"Pockets? Oh. I was sorta hoping you would forget about those." Jack widened his eyes and wobbled his bottom lip, trying to pull a puppy dogface.

"Now, three men knew you stole from a market stall _and_ the bakery. If I do not return the items, they might think I cannot do my job properly! Now, we would not like that, would we? So, empty your pockets."

"Yes sir." Jack mumbled, and gave the man the bread and two shillings.

"All of it." Jack handed him the rest of the money. "Good boy. Now, let's go to see your Ma."

"Please Mister, she is probably cooking, and the Master would be awful angry if dinner was late! Can I just run home to help her, and you could come tomorrow?"

"Sparrow." He raised his voice in warning, and then let his expression soften. "Who knew that behind those innocent eyes, there lies a devil? All right, off with you, before I change my mind! I will talk to your mother tomorrow."

Jack smiled his thanks at the man, and scurried off home, glad to have dodged getting punished for at least a day.

"Jack? Where have you been? You know, I called, and called. I thought they had chucked you back in the cells!" Jack's Ma cuffed him on the ear. "Now, could you run off and get me some rosemary from the market? Take the money from the pot, do _not_ steal anything. Oh, and while ye're down there, buy some rum. The Master likes a little bit of rum with his food."

Jack nodded, took enough money from the clay pot they kept the cooking money in, and ran back to the market. He kept to the side, and crept over to the herb stall, careful to make himself unseen by the market guards.

"Shall I pay? Yes, no, maybe so?" He spoke aloud, his voice, which seemed cockney to most people, sounded too foreign and out of place in the bustling market. "Yeah, I will. Old Jimmy don't mind me!"

He slipped into the crowd, and made his way to the stall through the front. He realised, as he got closer, that Jim, the old and balding herb-seller, wasn't manning the stall that day. Instead, his youngest daughter, Sarah, was.

"Hello luv'!" Jack leant over the stall to talk to Sarah. She was a beauty, in her twenties, but not married, despite her looks. She had raven-black hair, full red lips, and sharp blue eyes that didn't miss a thing. "Just a pound o' rosemary for me today!" Jack flirted heartily with her, despite being just ten.

"Good-day, Jack." Sarah eyed him dryly. "Oi, you! Don't you go thinking I'm blind!" She turned and grabbed the handful of herbs that had been stolen just a moment ago. "And Jack, put back the poppy seeds." She measured out a pound of rosemary. "Three shillings and a ha'pence."

"That much?" Jack put the poppy seeds back, raising his eyebrows. "Why the High Pri'?" He chuckled at his own rhyme.

"I just feel like it today." She sniffed, slapping away the hand that was reaching for the parsley.

"Why's that?" Jack asked, handing her the money. "Maybe I could… ease your troubles."

"Sparrow, you are, quite frankly, one of my troubles." She gave him the rosemary. "I saw you earlier, so scram lest I think it best to alert the guards."

Jack smiled, pinched her behind, and ran, ducking into the crowds. Soon, he had a large bottle of rum in his hand, and was making his way back home, half-skipping.

"Dare I?" He looked around. "I dare."

He uncorked the rum, and took a swig. It was sweet and tangy, and sent a warm feeling down his body. He took a second, and swirled it before swallowing. The after-taste was bitter. He corked the bottle again, and ran the rest of the way home.

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**Not much to say here, other than:**

**Gimme an 'R' '_R' _Gimme an 'E' '_E' _Gimme a 'V' _'V' _Gimme an 'I'_ 'I' _Gimme an 'E' _'E' _Gimme a 'W'_ 'W'_**

**What's that smell? '_Review!_'**

**Yes, I meant spell. Anywho, Please review, the countless hours I pored over my computer to do that little cheerleading chant should be enough! Alright, maybe not _hours_, but I got so darn frustrated!**

**Oh, and I meant to mention this before. The reason I used the term 'English Rose' was partly because I read it in another story guilty blush but also because, I am English, and when I went to New York New York, New York! a lovely (yet rather peculiar) little hot dog stand guy started singing some song about an English Rose to me when I asked him for a coke. Okay, that's not the whole truth. He had asked me where I was from, and it was after I said England that he started to sing. He was a Walnut Ninja, I seem to recall. Now, that wouldn't have stuck in my head, but, funnily enough, my name is very similar to Rose (try one letter different) so it scared me, quite a bit.**

**May Tra'ers guide you onwards**

**Razzy**

**goes off singing I love you baby, and if it's quite alright, I need you baby, to hold the morning's light, I need you baby, and If it's quite, I'm Okay. Those aren't the words, I don't think, but who cares?  
**


	3. Living on Laughter

**It's like christmas came early! -squeals- Marianne, I thank thee kindly. I'm glad you liked lil Jack. Only ten, and already a player of hearts! -tuts- What I loved about writing Jack's bit, was I could just see a mini Depp doing it. Especially the barrel bit, and I originally had him flirting with a pair of young ladies as he sat on the wall, but I cut it out, it wasn't needed. And so I put Sarah in! I love Jack, I do.**

**I was planning to update this later in the week, after a little more tweaking and so on, but that lovely review warmed my bogey toes so, I just had to. See, now I'm in such a good mood! All three of my stories have one review to their name! My little babies, growing up. Okay, I'm now just getting into being plain creepy.  
**

**Anywho, on with the Charade!**

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"Miss, I love you like a sister, truly, I do, but I do _not_ want to go anywhere near that dreaded ship!" Bethany easily matched Marianne's stride, being the fitter of the pair, but as she danced around her friend, trying to convince her, she tired herself out. 

"Trust me. We can go on that boat, and not see the face of a single crewmember. I worked it all out in my head, you'll see." Marianne picked up her pace.

"Girls are bad luck to have on board a ship!" Marianne looked at her friend, and raised an eyebrow.

"If girls are such bad luck, how do all those travelling ships get to the New World and back?"

"Many do not arrive with all their passengers, and, you know what? More people die on boats containing women than ones without!" Bethany went back into Marianne's pace; triumphant and sure she had won.

"That, my friend, is absolutely false, and you know it! Men, you see, put up these lies to keep us women from taking power!" She had a faraway look in her eyes, which had turned a dark and determined grey.

"You think _you_ have it bad? You think white women are the oppressed? Do _not_ believe that your kind are the only ones that have troubles, or that you have the worst problems!" Bethany raised her voice, and stamped in front of Marianne.

"Beth, believe me. I did not mean that. I just meant that the oppressor makes up stories to keep the oppressed down." She looked Bethany in the eye.

Bethany calmed down slightly. "Alright, but Miss? I think we should find somewhere sheltered soon."

"Why's that?" Beth looked around her, up at the clear blue sky. "I see no- _Beth_! My eyes do not control the weather! I am sure that it is just a trick of the light."

"Suit yourself. But I am sure you do not want your precious books to get wet!"

"Where can we go? We must get onto the ship as quickly as possible, lest it sails away, and there is no place near the shore that we may stay at without being spotted by someone."

"How are we going to get onto the ship, anyway? It is too big to climb, surely!" Something clicked in Bethany's mind. "No! That is far too dangerous! We could slip and die!"

"Do not worry so much, Beth! I have studied the ship from afar, and have even tested how far I can jump! I am sure that we will be on that ship, safe in the bottom, before you can say Pirate!"

Bethany just sniffed, and they continued their walk in silence. A few minutes later, they were walking up a steep hill, cautiously watching their step. They knew, if they made one mistake, they could easily fall off the cliff hidden to the side.

"See, you were wrong! Not a single drop of rain or storm cloud!" Marianne smiled triumphantly at Bethany.

"That's because you calmed down, and your eyes went blue again."

She had no chance to reply to that, as at that moment, they got to the top of the cliff. She got onto her stomach, her head and shoulders hovering over the lethal drop. Bethany got down next to her.

"You know, we're very lucky."

"Why do you say that?"

"The Ship chose this spot for a reason."

"That reason being?..."

"Oh come _on_, Beth, you have a brain!" Marianne tapped her friend on the head. "The ship must be waiting for some sort of signal, and planned to wait quite a few days."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, look at the spot it chose! From the town, you would only notice this ship if you knew it was here. What does that tell you?"

"They wanted to be hidden."

"Yes! They are facing the sea, which means-"

"They might need to get away quickly?"

"Yes. Now this is good for us because the cliffs surrounding it make it easier for us to get onto it, and once they get whatever signal they are waiting for, it will take them a while to get out, leaving _us_ more time to get _in_. "

"But why will the cliffs make it harder for them to get out?"

"Wind! Ships like those-" Marianne gestured to the ship below them, "-need wind to move well! Now, how much wind do you think will get behind those sails with the cliffs here?"

"Not much." Bethany looked at the ship in a new light. "So, how are they going to get out with no wind?"

"Oh, the captain is probably very clever. He would never have got his ship into that little spot without knowing how he was going to get it out. I am pretty sure he has a plan, though I am unsure as to what it might include. It is quite a big ship, it is not as if they can use a pole to push it away from the cliff walls."

"Maybe if they had all their crew with really big poles-"

"That would work, but where would they put the poles? Maybe this is a common pirate hideaway, and they leave the poles for other pirates to use? I do not know, but I think we should start making our way down while it is still light."

"Okay. One more thing though, why do we have to wear boys clothes?"

"Easier to climb in."

"Oh."

Around halfway down the cliff-face, as they rested on a ledge, Marianne slipped. Only slightly, but enough to send a few stones tumbling. The girls pressed against the wall, and thankfully no one saw them. One of the bags containing the books had a small tear by three-quarters of the way down, and, scared the bag would fully break and send the books clattering onto the ship, they put all the books in one bag. They took it in turns to carry the bag.

By nightfall, the members of the crew that had been on deck playing cards, or having burping and spitting contests, or play sparring, had gone below. All apart from one, who had, as the two girls got lower down the cliff-face, fallen asleep. They guessed he was a watchman.

Marianne jumped silently from the wall to the ship, waiting before signalling for Bethany to follow. She put her finger to her lips, and they crept passed the sleeping pirate. She led Bethany down, right to the bottom of the ship, where they found the cargo room mainly full.

"Well, the rum will be used often, knowing pirates, so we should keep well away from _that_, but they I do not believe that they will eat the food that quickly." She made her decision, and pulled Bethany to an empty space behind a group of crates, all smelling very strongly of salt, which repulsed her.

Nevertheless, they were in.

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"Ma, please! I can't 'elp it! My fingers just slipped, I swear!" Jack flinched and yelped as his Ma cuffed him repeatedly. 

"You-" **Thwack!** "-Stupid-" **Slam!** "-Little-" **Whack!** "-Devil!" Jack's Ma stood up straight once she had decided he had been punished enough. "You know, all this thieving could cost me my place here! Master does not want a _thief_ under his roof!" She spat the word thief, and pushed him to the floor.

"I have a suggestion, if I may, Ms Sparrow?"

Jack's Ma turned to Mr. Durton, her smile as sweet as apple pie. "Yes, of course!"

"I could find him a job, if you wish."

"Ma, no!"

Jack's Ma swatted him out of the way, and nodded at Mr. Durton. "A job? I never thought of that! He could start to earn his keep!"

"But Ma, I help you do _your_ job!" Jack was pushed down again.

"Yes! I do not think he could be a guard, but I hear young lads like him are always wanted to help the merchant ships."

"Merchant ships? Well, I do not think that he should go on a _merchant_ ship. Just another word for slave ship, if you ask me."

"I assure you- no? All right, what do you think about navy ships? Then he would be fighting pirates!" Mr. Durton turned to Jack. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect!" Jack's Ma smiled at her son and Mr. Durton. "Thank you Mr. Durton. I would invite you to stay longer, but…"

"I understand perfectly. Duty calls!" Mr. Durton stood up. "Goodbye, you two. I will see what I can do about that place in the navy."

"Such a nice man, that Mr. Durton. So nice of him to get you a job." Jack's Ma started to make lunch.

"But Ma! I would never be able to leave you!" Jack gave her his puppy dog eyes. "I love you too much."

"Aw." She ruffled his hair, then cuffed him. "Now, go behave. Actually, go see if you can get me some apples. I intend to make a crumble for the family's dinner dessert."

"When I go away, to work in the navy, who will fetch you your ingredients?"

"Be off with you!"

"Yes, Ma." Jack ran to the door before turning. "But just think about it!"

* * *

"Captain?" 

"What is it?" Captain Dreg Valhauger, captain of the Black Pearl, stood at the bow of his ship, watching the waves lap against the sunset.

"Falherty has just come back. _The Opal_ will set sail in under a week. They just need a few more crew members."

"Good." He faced the man speaking to him, revealing the scar that ran from his blind right eye to his collarbone.

The man before him was much shorter but older, grey hair streaking what had once been a brilliant and fiery red, and fell down to his lobes. Two deep blue eyes stared out from his leathery and tanned face, his beard chopped finely, just over the length of stubble. His nose had been broken in several places, and in his mouth, he was missing several teeth, though through decay or fights, it was unclear.

"You may leave." Valhauger turned back to the ocean, caressing the wood beneath his fingertips, as though he was stroking the ocean itself. His hair, which should have fallen below his ears, stuck up at odd angles, jet black with one piercing streak of white from the middle of the front to the top of the back. His eyes were a silvery blue, almost as white as the streak in his hair, but not quite. The rest of his face was as pale as humanly possible, and though it was hard and leathered, it was difficult to tell that he spent his days up on the deck of a pirate ship. His lips were a pale purple, making him appear terribly cold, even when he was sailing South, to Africa, or the New World.

He wore black gloves, a dark blue jacket, a cream shirt, blue breeches, and brown leather boots. All of his clothes appeared faded with age, except for the silky blue bandana he tied around his left ankle, hidden from public eyes. No one knew about the bandana, as it was a secret he held dear.

He smirked, the movement causing his scar to ripple, like a snake. It would have been better if he had found a ship called _The Pink Pearl_, but _The Opal_ would have to do. He didn't actually speak of his reasons for wanting to raid _The Opal_, but he believed they knew his reason already.

Irony.

Pure, sweet laughter in his head, which made him happier than any riches could. He always chose his victims for laughter. No one actually laughed out loud, of course. Valhauger himself only permitted a slight chuckle at the most funny of his inside jokes. But the laughter in his head, that kept him going.

That's what kept him alive.

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**Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been five hundred years since my last confession. I admit, and if my lovely friend K. is reading this, she'll know what this is about. The beginning of this chapter, when Bethany and Marianne shout about the whole opressor/opressed thing? I totally took the lines from a play. The problem is, I do not know who wrote the play, or even what the play was about, as it was just from a duologue in drama club.**

**Say five hail marys and you shall be forgiven.**

**Anywho, please review, and I'd be best pleased.**

**May Tra'ers guide you onwards,**

**Razzy  
**


	4. Sorry!

**Okay, I'm really sorry, but I won't be updating this story for a while. That is for these reasons three:**

**-I want the scenes involving Pirates, Sailors, and the Ships to be as detailed and as accurately as possible. For that reason, I want to finish reading the two books set on ships in that century (Powder Monkey by Paul Dowswell, and Prison Ship, which I just realised is also by him, in case you are wondering) and I'm going to go through every book I own on or set in that century, even if it doesn't include ships. Hopefully this will mean I write a better chapter and story than I would have done otherwise, and I won't look like a complete idiot. I will probably ask around for DVDs of the films, and will watch every scene Jack is in, to get his character even better.**

**-Break is over on monday, so I won't have whole days to write, read, and devote myself to the website.**

**-I've been neglecting my other stories, I think the three reviews went to my head (it may seem odd, that I was excited at three reviews, but two of my others only got two, and my third got one). I love this story, but I'm planning to only work on my Devil's Footsteps Fanfic, Spiralling Hayward. I meant for all my other stories to be solely for promoting it, but I forgot about it, and it'll take alot of begging and bribery to get it to speak to me again.**

**But, whilst I'm on Pirate Holiday, if anyone could drop me a note telling me what type of ship the Black Pearl is, I'd be so thankful. I have a suspicion that it is a Galleon, but I wouldn't want to look like a fool and get it wrong.  
**

**May Tra'ers Guide you Onwards**

**Razzy**

**Oh, and don't worry. I'll take this chapter down as soon as I can, and put up the real one.**


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